


mutual

by LonesomeDreamer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: LonelyEyes, M/M, at this point i don't need to explain myself y'all know i have no life, dastardly bastardly duo out at dinner what crimes will they commit, romantic dinner time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: life is tricky. romance is hard. but, perhaps, a dinner might fix that.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	mutual

**Author's Note:**

> ahahahaha yeah it's me again with another tma twitter fic I'm sorry,,, I will say that there are one or two agreement issues within this grammatically but my brain is fried and I don't have enough in me to try and correct it. tma twitter on the other hand keeps delivering with the Good Content. this piece does have a slightly different feel than the others, although I'm not quite sure why; most of the dialogue here has either been paraphrased from or inspired by the wonderful interactions of @/peterllovesyou and @/eliasbtolerates on twitter! anyways those are all the words i have, tell me your thoughts on this lil piece and thanks again for reading, it brings me great joy when people enjoy my work!

Even in a room reserved, separated from the rest of the clatter and chatter of the world beyond, the din of the Ritz was hard for Elias to cut out. It arced through his mind, which he had hoped would be calm and collected, and drove his thoughts into a thousand dissimilar pieces that made the whole of the idea irreparable. To put anything back together would require nothing short of some sort of miracle, he felt, and that was unlikely to happen; the last thing he wanted to resort to was some hackneyed phrase that would only cheapen the moment.

“I suppose I got carried away there, Elias. Elias?”

The shorter man shook himself out of his reverie, offering a weak smile as a response to the inherent question within Peter’s words. Despite being a man of many words in most cases, Elias was woefully unable to conjure a response to Peter beyond the nod. It was as if being around the other man made him unable to think, to comprehend, to string together the eloquence he so often relied on.

“I’m—I’m fine, Peter,” he finally managed, running a finger along the inside of his stiffly starched collar. “I do enjoy hearing you talk about your experiences, you know. I’m fine. Do you...do you need something?”

The captain frowned, giving Elias a questioning glance. He truly admired how dressed up the other man had gotten—although he owned a suit, Elias had always had a better taste for fashion—, and he didn’t mind admitting that Elias looked quite attractive in a proper tailcoat; nevertheless, it was quite concerning to see the shorter man seemingly so out of sorts. Peter subconsciously pushed his yearning aside in favor of voicing those concerns aloud with the best words he could summon to the tip of his tongue.

“I’m fine, Elias, but you don’t look fine. You seem to be a little bit nervous—do you need to get some air?”

Elias had a sip from his wineglass, staring moodily into the depths of the rose-colored liquid and contemplating his potential reaction. Supple fingers beat out a staggered ostinato against the cloth-shrouded tabletop; it was unusual for him to be so nervous, let alone to demonstrate an outward sign of that anxiety. It took several sips of the wine for him to finally clear his throat, nerves steeled, and speak.

“I can assure you that I am quite fine, Peter,” he said quietly. “Perhaps...perhaps I’ve just had a touch too much wine, yes?”

“You were always more of a wine person than I was,” Peter laughed, seemingly satisfied with Elias’s answer. “Drink some water—unless you want to go home?”

That aggravating concern was back in the captain’s voice—aggravating to Elias, that is, who felt a marked sense of guilt rising in his throat. His intention hadn’t been to worry Peter; far from it, as he was still desperately trying to find the right words to speak with. After several seconds of silent struggling, he set down his wine and nudged the glass further away from himself.

“I assure you, I am perfectly fine. We haven’t had dessert yet, Peter. As long as you’d like to stay, I would,” he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve no need to be concerned about me.”

“...Alright, then. Let’s stay,” the captain exhaled softly, running a hand through his already-tousled white hair. “But you’d better not have any more wine.”

“I can manage that,” Elias replied drily, forcing himself to sound collected. “Do let me know when you want to leave, Peter, but for now...tell me about anything, really. My ears—and eyes—are open.”

Peter let out a quick laugh, the sound light and soft and oh-so-painfully-familiar to Elias. He set down his fork upon his now-empty plate, apparently pondering something. He then fiddled with the cuff of his shirt for a moment or two before nearly knocking over his water glass with his elbow; steadying the cup, he looked up to catch Elias’s gaze.

“How about I...tell you about you?”

Caught off-guard by Peter’s question, Elias had to take several seconds to compose himself. He could hear his heart thudding in his ears. Distantly, in the background, someone was playing the piano there at the Ritz—he had no clue what piece, although he could have easily Known, but his mind was focused elsewhere; there was a gentleness to the captain’s expression that had set his own feelings alight like paper put to a flame.

One flighty hand twitched toward his collar, tugging gently at his tie as if to try to loosen the tension by loosening the garment. Elias quickly let his hand drop, fingers floating back down to his lap, as his thoughts centered firmly around the object in his hand—smooth metal, circular and unending and unbreakable like the bond he couldn’t tell whether or not they had. They were both happy beyond belief in that moment, sitting there together and laughing and talking. It was almost perfect.

It was almost perfect, but not quite.

_I can’t take a step outside, that would be incredibly rude. Perhaps I really do just need to loosen my tie or—or, perhaps, I don’t give him the ring._

His thoughts had expanded, back to their state at the beginning of the conversation; although they were separated from the rest of those dining that night at the Ritz, Elias could hear them all—and it hurt. Even as he struggled to focus on the task at hand—the task _in_ his hand—, he felt as if his own nerves were on display for the world to see. It was dreadfully unnerving, particularly so for a man who prided himself on being the Watcher rather than the Watched.

“Of course, Peter,” he replied quickly, the speed of his thoughts cloaking their true depth. “But...er, what exactly do you mean?”

The captain smiled fondly, the ice in his eyes melting into twin lakes of warmth and adoration, and Elias felt his core go weak. His fist closed around the ring, letting the shape cut into his palm—cool, crisp metal and a promise to speak words that he couldn’t seem to conjure up—without much care for the damage caused. It was enough to look at Peter and bask in the captain’s happiness like a cat being hand-fed its favorite treat.

_I can’t interrupt him, not like this…_

Peter smiled brightly, happiness lighting his face as he reached forward and gave Elias a pat on the elbow. The wattage of his expression did not seem to dim; in contrast, the longer they’d been sitting there the happier he’d seemed to become. The gentleness had even pervaded his touch, which was somehow lighter than normal yet lingered for twice as long.

“How about...when I first knew I was in love with you?”

Elias’s heart thudded to a wretched standstill. All the noise driving at his mind quietly faded into nothingness as Peter’s words hit his skin and began to sink in. He couldn’t describe the anxious joy spreading through his veins, beyond the fact that it was far more intoxicating than the wine he’d been drinking; a rather silly grin was fighting for a hold on his face with an equally surprised expression, but he managed to fend both off and keep his face a cool neutral.

“I— _hah_ , I’m—I’m all ears, or eyes, or—go ahead,” he mumbled, swallowing hard as he attempted to hold the captain’s gaze.

“I...will admit, Elias, that I remember thinking you were intimidating—a bit too finicky, at first,” Peter hummed, one hand resting idly next to his empty plate as his fingers drummed against the tabletop. Elias focused his gaze on the repetitive motion, and thus failed to notice that the captain’s other hand was not above the table; Peter had slipped a hand into his own pocket, nervous fingers worriedly caressing one of the rings there.

_Perhaps Elias is waiting for me to….Or maybe not. Should I?..._

“I’m not that insufferable,” Elias scoffed, rolling his eyes, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Well, one day we were in a meeting,” the captain continued smoothly, gazing at the shorter man sitting across from him. “I can’t even remember what it was about. But, for whatever reason, I looked at you differently that day. I saw the care you put into everything. How you noted each detail.”

A variety of emotions ran through Elias’s head, each one reflected in a mildly bemused expression upon his face. There was a quivery feeling in his stomach, one that was swiftly traveling up his throat and twisting his insides. He couldn’t seem to stop it—he wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ to stop it—, and it only seemed to grow the more that Peter spoke.

“Peter…”

“You’d gotten me a bottle of my favorite whiskey, even though I didn’t ask. You even took my coat when I came in,” Peter laughed softly, face alight with the fondness of reminiscing about a particularly good moment. “And I was upset about something, that meeting, but you noticed. You noticed, and you were just a little kinder to me. Less teasing. More soft glances.”

Elias could have sworn that gentle shivers were traversing up and down his spine. He felt as if some massive barrier between them was being taken apart, brick by brick, but each of Peter’s words seemed to hit the wall and take out dozens of bricks like a wrecking machine. The shorter man found himself leaning forward across the table, almost desperate to be closer to the captain.

“Oh, Peter…”

Peter’s smile broadened, leaving him grinning from ear to ear. Elias had silently taken his hand; their fingers intertwined perfectly, naturally, as light as though despite the hundreds of times they had held hands each new time was the first all over again. When the captain next spoke, his words seemed to hover in the air with the lift and gentility of genuine love.

“And then, Elias, I took a moment,” Peter said quietly, gazing at the other man. “I took a moment, and I noticed you.”

Elias found himself blushing even as the captain continued, as if he were a schoolgirl navigating a first crush. Half of his mind was mortified at the very prospect of being so openly emotional, which he was inclined to agree with, while the other half of him was shaking with a sort of joy he hadn’t felt in some time. Every word that fell from Peter’s mouth was a droplet of ambrosia, a delicate balm that washed over him and made the gnawing ache in his heart grow stronger even as the ring in his hand remained ever cold.

“I noticed the way your hair fell softly over your eyes,” Peter remarked, reaching forward and running his fingers through Elias’s hair as the shorter man’s cheeks reddened. “The way your suit was always perfectly tailored. Your hands, delicate….Your smile. I fell head over heels for you, Elias Bouchard.”

It was only then that the captain realized Elias’s shoulders were shaking; the man in question was gazing at Peter with the ever-unreadable expression he wore as he tried to steady his breathing. Concern rose almost immediately in Peter’s throat; he gave Elias’s hand a squeeze, frowning slightly.

“I’m sorry, Elias. I—I said too much,” he said worriedly. “I’m done. Please forgive me.”

“No, no, you’re—you’re okay,” Elias shook his head quickly. “You’re—you’re more than okay, you’re…”

He swallowed hard, biting at his lip. “I—I don’t know if I can be as eloquent about it as you,” he managed thickly, “but I...I adore you. I love you. I’m in love with you. You are everything to me, Peter, and I...I want to be able to feel that love.”

He ran a hand through his hair, sending dark curls to and fro as their careful arrangement was disrupted by his nerves. Each word was delicate as fresh morning dew upon a rose petal, despite the fact that none of his thoughts were translating to words in the way that he wanted them to. His throat was clouded with emotion, and he realized with a start that tears were threatening to pool in his eyes.

“I know we’ve been together before, and I’ve felt your love before, but...I want to do it right, Peter. I want to give you the love you deserve.”

As he spoke, Elias lifted his hand above the table to reveal the ring. Peter’s gaze was almost instantly drawn to the metal object; a slow smile began to cross his face, warm and loving as it spread to the cool depths of his eyes and melted the ice that remained there. He gave Elias’s hand a squeeze; there was an inherent gentility to the captain’s touch that made the shorter man feel as though he was melting into the warmth of another familiar embrace.

“Elias...I love you,” Peter said softly. “I love you. You don’t even have to ask. Of course I’ll marry you.”

He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the ring he’d been fidgeting with. Elias’s gaze flickered from Peter’s face to the ring, then back to the captain’s face again with an expression of genteel amusement. After a moment, he began to laugh quietly. It didn’t take long for the two to be laughing in tandem, quiet joy filtering into precariously unrefined peals of laughter that was so giddy it was quite nearly giggling.

“Peter Lukas, I adore you more than anything,” Elias murmured, bringing Peter’s hand to his lips and bestowing a kiss across the man’s knuckles that was barely more than a butterfly-light dusting. “More than anything, my dear.”

“Marry me, then,” Peter grinned. “Marry me, Elias.”

The world around them had fallen away entirely, the distant noise of the other patrons fading into emptiness, and Elias found himself filled with a particular sort of longing. Deep-seated wanting, a wanting to reach across the table and pull Peter up and out of his seat by the collar just to kiss the man—wineglasses and plates be damned—very nearly took control of him, and it was only the remaining shreds of his personal decency that kept him from acting.

“...God damn you, Peter, just kiss me already,” he breathed, voice hollow for want, and the captain reached up to stroke his face with one gentle hand.

“Of course, my love,” Peter murmured. “Of course.”

Whether or not they actually disturbed the service upon the table, Elias was unaware—he was too busy focused on Peter’s fingers in his hair, the soft contact between their lips, the silent fulfillment of some unspoken yet mutual grand design. Peter, too, had nothing on his mind but the quiet harmony of their physical reunion; what passed silently between them, with no need for words, was more than enough to fill the void of quiet.

There was no need to bother with their surroundings. All that mattered was already within their grasp.


End file.
